"Ivana Popovich, innocent of the battle," Margo said. "A young mother, she was killed by a rusalka this March, leaving her three month old daughter orphaned, never to know a mother's love. In life we failed to protect her, as was our duty. In death we shall not forget her."
"We shall remember her," Cordelia said, though that alone would not be enough. Ivana deserved justice. She deserved to be avenged.
They all did. They should not have died young, slaughtered by creatures out of nightmare. No one should ever die like that, not ever, but too many had.
On and on the list had gone; name after name, men and women both, drawn from every nation, until it seemed it would never end, and yet for every name Margo spoke there were another thousand that remained unsaid.
Too many people had died, were still dying. Too many children had been robbed of their parents; too many parents robbed of their children. There had been too much suffering, for too long.
Remembering the fallen was the right thing to do, no one deserved to be forgotten, but remembrance alone was not enough. The dead needed to be avenged. The slaughter must be stopped.
"Jesse Eliot Sanders, innocent of the battle," Margo said, as Cordelia had been expecting. After including so many other non-combatants, leaving him off the list would have been an insult to his memory. "A cheerful youth, he was killed by a vampire this March. His friend was forced to kill the demon that wore his face. His parents can only weep, never knowing what became of their beloved son. In life we failed to protect him, as was our duty. In death we shall not forget him."
"We shall remember him," Cordelia said, glancing sideways at Xander.
He looked grim, fist clenched at his side, eyes narrowed in cold fury, but there was a suspicious glint on his cheeks.
Xander would not forget his friend. He never had, in the history that would have been. Behind his mask of laughter he had mourned Jesse, with a grief too deep for words. There had been no grave for him to visit, no acknowledgement of the death, but he had paid silent tribute to Jesse's memory every time he helped Buffy save another, and so eased his pain.
At least, that was the impression Cordelia had got, reading between the lines. He'd only ever said that he didn't want to talk about it, but she knew how people worked. Someone like Xander would never simply forget about their friends.
Knowing that others remembered Jesse too should help him. Whenever he missed his friend he'd be able to think about the monks Giles had mentioned, who chanted this list, in full, twenty-four hours a day, and know that Jesse would never be forgotten while mankind endured.
And if Margo had reached Jesse, there could not be many names left. Seeing her begin to speak, Cordelia steeled herself against the inevitable.
"Mary Josephine Chase, innocent of the battle," Margo said. "An amiable woman, noted for her charitable contributions, she was devoured by Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch, father of the fathers of ghouls, this April, her soul utterly destroyed, her daughter left to weep over an empty grave. In life we failed to protect her, as was our duty. In death we shall not forget her."
"We shall remember her," Cordelia said fervently.
But she would not weep over the grave, if her Dad ever bothered to buy one. She would do her grieving as she had this afternoon after the visit to the mall, alone in her secret apartment, where no one could see her moments of weakness.
She would not be weak; she would be strong. Like Xander, she would not embarrass others with displays of grief, but rather focus her energies on vengeance. She would arrange the destruction of Fein Dahlk and Omega both, in her mom's name, no matter what tried to stop her. As the ghosts had shown, even death need be no obstacle to justice.
It would be horrendously difficult, of course, but while her soul endured she would never stop trying. She had failed her mom once, abandoning her to a lonely death; she would not fail her again. She would remain faithful to her mom's memory, always and forever.
"A scant few lives I have recalled this night," Margo said, "a handful of leaves picked from a forest. A thousand centuries have passed since man first fought the dark, yet still the battle rages. A myriad heroes have died in the service of mankind. Remember them."
"We shall remember them."
"A myriad hecatombs of innocents have died, killed by creatures that should not be. Remember them."
"We shall remember them."
"Tonight we march to battle, that the heroes shall not have died in vain. Tonight we march to battle, that the slaughter of the innocents shall be stemmed. Tonight we march to battle. Let the dark beware."
"Let the dark beware," Cordelia and the others thundered, their battle-cry echoing round the room.
Margo smiled. "Mister Alexander, Mistress Cordelia, I know nothing can truly compensate for your loss, but I do hope knowing they will be remembered will provide some small consolation. Naturally, any contribution you wish to add to the full account of their lives, which Mr Giles is writing, will be most warmly welcomed. The customary length is ten thousand words, but that is not a strict limit. Once these accounts are complete you, as recognised comrades-in-arms of the slayer, will be invited to witness their addition to the litany of the fallen, hellmouth permitting."
It had better. Cordelia wanted to see the monks at work, a final assurance her mom would never be forgotten, and it would do Xander good too.
It would have helped him in the original history, but Giles wasn't allowed to tell outsiders about the monks. The council was worried the demons might find out, and try to attack them, so Giles had never mentioned that part of his duties, depriving Xander of the consolation he should have had. Not letting the demons know was a good idea, but Giles should still have told Xander, if he could.
Perhaps he couldn't. He had mentioned spending some time doing penance there, probably for his Ripper period. The monks might have made him swear binding vows.
"Now," Margo said, "we will sing 'The hour is dark,' five verses only. If you are not familiar with the words, please try to join us for the chorus. On three."
Cordelia smiled. She liked singing, and she had a superb voice. This would be fun, a break from the gloom.
"The hour is dark," the watchers slowly sang, "our peril great. The demons grow strong. Evil seems our fate."
"There shall be no surrender, no retreat," Cordelia sang, perfectly in tune. "We shall never ever accept defeat. Though evil reign supreme, still would we fight, against the demon hordes, for what is right."
It wasn't a song she would have picked, especially not before her last stand — she'd have chosen something cheerful, maybe a boast about how many demons they would kill — but the chorus was good. Only the weak surrendered; she never would.
The song over, Giles and Wilfred both rubbed their ears.
As the last echoes died away Margo smiled. "You have good lungs, Mistress Cordelia. You did not need to share them with us. Perhaps, if there should be a next time, you might to care to consider singing with slightly less gusto, and slightly greater fidelity to the tune."
Cordelia scowled, but everyone else nodded. Clearly, they had no appreciation for good music.
"Now," Margo said, "for the affirmation of our oaths. Mister Alexander, Mistress Cordelia, you may now withdraw. You may stay to witness the oaths, if you wish, or you may wait outside, whichever pleases you."
Standing up, Cordelia looked at Xander, then pointedly at the library counter. The oaths might be dull, but they'd give her more insight into Giles, and leaving now would look bad.
Xander immediately nodded.
Margo coughed politely.
Cordelia and Xander bowed their heads to the banner, then walked backwards at a funereal pace, until they reached the counter, Xander only stumbling once.
"Many have fallen, heroes—" Margo held up the broken sword. "—and innocents—" She held up the baby's shoe, "—alike. Would you once more take up this sword to guard the innocent, as its bearer once did?"
"We will," the watchers chorused.
"Then swear now the great oaths, that in you the ancient promise may be renewed," Margo said. "Mr Giles?"
"I will remember the fallen," Giles said, "the heroes and the innocent alike. To their memory I dedicate my life. I will strive to live as the heroes lived. I will fight as they fought, in the service of mankind, not for wealth or glory but to protect the innocent, that their slaughter may end, nor shall I lay down my arms while life endures. Without regard to race or creed this I will do, though it cost me my life."
Xander smiled approvingly.
"As you have sworn, so may it be," Margo said, then looked at Wilfred. "Mr Bodsworth?"
"I will remember the fallen," he began.
Cordelia frowned. She'd been expecting something more ornate, with lots of grandiose phrases and long stretches of Latin. Instead, they'd been as plain in style as in meaning. There was little room for creative misinterpretation in those oaths, just a lifelong commitment to fighting evil.
There hadn't even been any details on how they'd fight evil, no promises to faithfully guide the slayer or memorise all the boring books, but then there had been hints enough that the oaths were far older than the slayer.
The precise wording obviously wasn't, the language was too modern, but the essence of them might be — a survival from ancient times, when the Old Ones were young, before the First had lured them all into evil. They must be that old, at their heart, or the blood demon could not have sworn them, before it followed its 'Great Lord' into the dark, and yet it had. It had given Giles proof of that, proof he had been unable to deny.
That explained the blood demon's actions, giving up its life to seal the portal to Knn-Yrr just like Margo was planning to do with the deathgate. It had been a watcher once, keeping the wolves from the flock, and even after it had succumbed to the enemy, becoming what it fought, it had not forgotten what it had once sworn. In the end, it had sacrificed everything to save what it considered vermin, and died true to its oaths.
It also explained much about watcher politics. In giving them certainty over their purpose, the oaths implicitly denied any certainty about what they did not mention, such as how best to perform their mission. The factions weren't merely chasing power; they were split over fundamental principles, with only the oaths holding them to a common purpose.
"… though it cost me my life," Agatha said.
"As you have sworn, so may it be," Margo said. "In you is the ancient promise renewed. From the ashes of despair shall ever be born new hope."
After a moments silence, Wilfred looked sideways at Cordelia and Xander then back at the banner. "Dame Margo, our guests may only be young, but they have proven themselves as dedicated to the battle as any watcher. Indeed, you yourself have deemed them our comrades in arms. Should we not treat them as such in all ways, and give them an opportunity to affirm their dedication?"
"Wilfred," Margo said. "Are you proposing they swear the great oaths?"
"I am, Dame Margo," he said. "They already live as though they had. Why not make it official?"
Cordelia elbowed Xander before he could say anything, then whispered in his ear. "Think first."
"If they wish to swear the great oaths," Margo said, "I cannot deny them, but this is not a burden to be lightly taken up. Mister Alexander, Mistress Cordelia, I must warn you against taking this path."
Agatha nodded. "To swear the great oaths is to attract the enmity of the dark. Mister Alexander, Mistress Cordelia, I must warn you against taking this path."
Giles looked sideways at Cordelia and Xander. "For once, I agree with my eminent colleague. You have only seen a month of combat. It is too early for you to commit yourself to a lifetime of it. Xander, Cordelia, I must warn you against taking this path."
Cordelia looked warily back at him. For Agatha to copy Margo's phrasing was no great surprise; for Giles to do so too could only mean this entire scene had been rehearsed.
Naturally, Xander hadn't noticed a thing. "How old were you when you joined the watchers?" he asked Giles. "We've already made enemies on the dark side, and we've seen Fein Dahlk. We know what your oath involves because we're already living it. I'll—"
Cordelia clapped her hand over his mouth, then glanced at Giles's office. "Dame, would you mind if we had a private chat first?"
"Just what I was about to suggest," Margo said. "This is not a decision you should rush into. Are there any questions you'd like to ask first?"
"What aren't you telling us?" Cordelia immediately asked.
"The name of the nineteenth tirthankara, how to reach Fiddler's Green, what song the sirens sung," Margo said. "There is so much I could tell you, but my time grows short. I suggest you be more specific."
"Are there any double meanings in those oaths," Cordelia asked, "besides 'while life endures'. We saw the ghosts."
"Mankind is quite often misinterpreted, Mistress Cordelia. All creatures capable of moral choice are man's kind. It is our duty to protect all of them, whatever their race, even if they happen to have green skin and horns. At the moment, there are few besides true men who qualify, but it has not always been thus."
Giles stared at Margo, his shock obvious.
"And you're not trying to trick us into becoming watchers?" Cordelia said, looking warily at Margo.
"I am not," Margo said. "I have no desire to see you join the ranks of the council."
"And enrolling you would take weeks," Giles added. "The preliminary fast alone lasts five days."
Cordelia nodded. Margo might be twisting the truth, but not Giles. There were no traps hidden in those oaths, which didn't mean she should immediately rush to swear them. Margo was definitely planning something; the conversation between Giles and Wilfred this morning proved that.
Xander pushed her hand away. "See, Cordy, no tricks here. Lets—"
"—talk," Cordelia said, then looked at Margo. "Will you make sure no one eavesdrops on us?"
"On that," Margo said, "you have my word. No one will hear what you say in there tonight."
"Ok," Xander said, following Cordelia into Giles's office, "but—"
"Don't you realise we're being manipulated?" Cordelia asked.
"Of course I do," Xander said. "Repeating the same warning three times? Obviously rehearsed, but does it matter?"
Cordelia stared at him. How could he not care? Did he want to be Margo's puppet?
Xander sighed. "They're not asking us to do anything we're not already doing."
"They used Jesse," Cordelia said.
"We remembered him," Xander said. "That's better than flowers."
"It's a nice gesture," Cordelia conceded, "but Margo shouldn't expect to get anything for it."
"She's going to be dead in forty minutes, Cordy, and we've got that arrangement. She's not getting anything out of this; it wouldn't matter if she was. All that matters is that it's the right thing to do."
"Why?"
"You know why, Cordy," Xander said. "Too many people have died. You heard all those names, and the list keeps growing. We have to do something, for Jesse's sake, and your mom's, and all the other victims."
Cordelia nodded. "I am doing something. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. And I'm going to keep on doing it, but—"
"Then let's tell the watchers that," Xander said, smiling. "It'll be cool, like the Green Lantern: In brightest day, in darkest night—"
"Some comic book?" Cordelia guessed. "Oaths are old-fashioned."
"That doesn't matter. You're going to live by those oaths anyway, aren't you?"
"I am," Cordelia said, at least until Omega was gone, and her mom avenged. After that, all the other evil stuff would avoid her, letting her live a normal life. The oaths didn't say anything about going looking for evil to fight.
"Then why not say so?"
Cordelia sighed. Xander had clearly made up his mind; he thought oaths sounded heroic, and he was too stubborn to back down.
"Is it because Margo wants you to?" Xander asked. "You're going to do the exact opposite."
"No," Cordelia said sharply. "I'm not a child. It's a big commitment. We shouldn't rush into it."
But Xander did have a point. The only way to avoid being manipulated by Margo was to ignore what she said, and stick to her principles, such as honesty. She shouldn't try to conceal what she was doing, try to hide her principles. She should be honest about what she believed in.
"We've already made the commitment," Xander said. "This just makes it official. I'm going to do it. Are you?"
Cordelia slowly nodded.
"I will remember the fallen," Cordelia said, kneeling before Margo, "the heroes and the innocent alike. To their memory I dedicate my life. I will strive to live as the heroes lived. I will fight as they fought, in the service of mankind, not for wealth or glory but to protect the innocent, that their slaughter may end, nor shall I lay down my arms while life endures. Without regard to race or creed this I will do, though it cost me my life."
"As you have sworn, so may it be. In you is the ancient promise renewed. From the ashes of despair shall ever be born new hope," Margo said, then smiled. "That concludes the ceremonial portion of the evening. You may stand at ease."
"Now we fight?" Xander said, smiling broadly as he got up off the floor.
"Not quite," Margo said. "First, I must apologise for pressuring you into this. If swearing the great oaths had not been the surest ethically acceptable way of protecting your sanity I would have done everything I could to present that choice being placed before you."
Giles nodded. "Nor would I have cooperated."
"Explain," Cordelia demanded, glaring at him. If he had a good reason for tricking her, she wouldn't hold it against him, much. A few gentle reminders would be enough, whenever she suspected he was hiding stuff from her.
"I will explain," Margo said. "When you encountered the whisperer in darkness—"
"The what?" Xander asked.
"The shadow creature in the funeral home," Margo said. "It planted the seeds of nightmare in your minds, and maybe Harmony's. Being unconscious might have protected her. No one else was close enough to be affected."
"Obvious, much?" Cordelia said. "Giles taught us to meditate. No more problem."
"If only," Margo said. "These seeds are not metaphorical; they are the first stage in the whisperer's reproductive cycle. If nothing were done, in time they would devour your mind from within, then emerge from the hollow husk of your body as a demonic spectre of unparalleled might. The later stages of the life cycle are unclear, but the board is confident that the spectre would eventually head into the outer darkness, where it would mature into the adult form."
"Ok," Xander said. "That would be bad."
"It would," Margo said. "Unfortunately, meditation alone can do no more than retard the growth of the seeds, giving you several years of sanity before the final months of madness. Swearing the great oaths, however, seals your souls to the ancient promise. For so long as you remain faithful to your vows, the seeds shall remain dormant."
Dormant was not good, but if Margo could have done better, she would have. Dormant would have to do, for now. Once Omega was gone, his minions, and their seeds, should fade away.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Xander asked. "Why does everything have to be a big secret?"
"The great oaths are only valid if sworn without thought of reward," Margo said. "It is a standard mystical criterion, meant to ensure purity of purpose. While there are other ways to pass that test, they all involve lengthy ordeals, which I fear the hellmouth would keep you too busy to undertake."
It would have. Margo and Giles had done the right thing, which needn't stop Cordelia bringing it up next time Giles asked for her trust.
Xander looked at Giles. "You'll do this for Willow, won't you, once she's better. I'll—"
"You had best not interfere, Master Harris," Margo said. "There is too great a risk of her noticing. If she expects to receive any benefit, she will gain none."
"But those who expect nothing can gain much," Giles said, "especially when dealing with gods, Cordelia."
"You mean last night," Cordelia said. "I expected to be healed," and she'd heard that the gods gave lousy gifts.
"That was my request of the Maiden, not yours," Margo said. "You asked nothing of her, an act of humility that demanded a reward."
"I was worried about what she might do," Cordelia said. "I've heard the stories. What reward?"
"Your caution was well-founded," Margo said, "but it was also a form of humility, for which you were rewarded. The marks of her favour are plainly visible in your aura, though I cannot read them."
"So you don't know what powers she's got?" Xander asked.
"None," Margo said, "in the sense you mean. The blessings of the Maiden are subtle, and they are not to be envied. Miss Chase will benefit from her humility, but I would be surprised if she enjoyed the experience."
"Great," Cordelia said, more weirdness in her life. She had enough problems already, without the Maiden getting creative. "What marvellous prize do we get for the great oaths?"
"You are warded against certain malign magics," Margo said, "such as the nightmare seeds. The corresponding benign magics will be easier for you to perform — not easy, Master Harris, just easier — and you are now watchers."
Giles looked sharply at Margo. "But—"
"I have not enlisted them into the council, Mr Giles," Margo said, "but there were watchers long before the council first met, nor do all watchers fall under its aegis even now. Some answer only to the board, and some, such as these two, answer to nothing save their own conscience. Forget what Travers said. He does not understand our history."
"Might that be because you have hidden much of it from the council, Dame Margo?" Giles suggested.
"Mr Giles," Margo said, "we have not hidden this truth from him: It is the great oaths that mark us as watchers, those who stand watch against the dark, and the great oaths alone. The lesser oaths are themselves meritorious, but theirs is a transient glory. They change as the world changes; only the great oaths are constant."
"Margo," Cordelia said, before the watchers locked horns again, "is there anything else we need to know about the oaths?"
"Nothing that either of us would think relevant," Margo said. "If Harmony should prove to have been affected other methods will have to be used. She is not currently worthy to swear the great oaths."
"Now do we fight?" Xander asked, glancing at the clock.
"Not quite," Margo said. "I would not send you into battle unarmed — and before you ask, I'm not giving you a magic sword."
"Axe? Crossbow? Gun?" Xander suggested hopefully.
Margo smiled as a large bag appeared at her feet. "For you, Master Harris, a deck of cards."
He scowled. "What am I supposed to do with that? Ask the demons if they'd like to play poker?"
"Playing any card game with this deck would be a rather bad idea," Margo said. "It would be best if you don't even open the box."
"Would that be the 'doesn't work' kind of bad idea," Xander said, looking warily at Margo, "or the 'Oops! Goodbye Sunnydale.' kind?"
"Both outcomes are possible," Margo said. "If you were to start drawing cards from that deck the result would be highly unpredictable. Just put it in one of your breast pockets, over your heart. It will act as a good luck charm."
Xander gingerly accepted the faded box from Margo, who reached back into her bag and pulled out a tiara, set with many diamonds. "This is for you, Miss Chase."
"What does it do?" she asked, frowning suspiciously at it.
"It should make you look more commanding," Margo said. "Hopefully, the demons will be sufficiently unnerved to give you a slight advantage."
"Very reassuring," Cordelia said dryly. "Haven't you tested it?"
"Not fully, Miss Chase," Margo said. "The theory is sound, and it did work well enough in England, but we didn't have an hellmouth handy to test it against."
"Put it on," Xander suggested.
"You know her too well," Margo said. "It would take more than a mild glamour to affect you, and my aides are protected against such magic."
So Cordelia wouldn't know how well the tiara worked until the demons were at her throat? Great plan.
"And for you, Mr Giles," Margo said, "a Caladbolg's scabbard."
"Not the real one, I presume," Giles said, looking skeptically at the piece of drab leather Margo was handing him.
"It is a tenth century copy, Mr Giles," Margo said, "as should be apparent from the stitching, but its maker copied the magic too. It is not quite as strong as the scabbard of legend, but it does have all the same arcane attributes. I hope I do not need to tell you what they are."
"You don't, Dame Margo," Giles said, stroking the leather. "This will be quite useful tonight."
"And for many nights to come," Margo said. "These items come from my own armory. They are mine to dispose of as I wish. However, I would advise against using them, save at greatest need. They are all powerful enough to attract hostile attention, and allowing yourself to grow dependent on their use would be most unwise."
"What about Willow?" Xander asked. "Did you bring her anything?"
"I did," Margo said. "But it appears she is indisposed tonight. Mr Giles will have to give it to her later, once she has sworn."
Giles nodded absently as he walked over to the weapons cabinet.
"I'm sure she'll be feeling better tomorrow," Cordelia said, smiling brightly.
"What about them?" Xander asked, glancing at the Bodsworths.
Agatha patted her broach while Wilfred tapped his ring.
"And I am also adequately armed," Margo said as dozens of gaudy rings appeared on her fingers. "For fifty years I have collected items of power. Now the time has come to use them."
"Are you planning on levelling the entire town, Dame Margo?" Giles asked, looking cautiously at the rings. "Or only half of it?"
"Just one block," Margo said, smiling. "Time to put our cloaks on. You do remember where you left yours, Mr Giles?"
"In my office, Dame Margo," he said, sliding a sword into his scabbard. "Are you suggesting we actually wear them?"
"I am, Mr Giles," Margo said. "Do you have any reasoned objections to doing so?"
"They have been found to be rather impractical, Dame Margo," Giles said.
"For everyday use, yes," Margo conceded, "but it is not everyday that I die, Mr Giles. I strongly suggest that you put your cloak on, rainbow side out."
"I suppose you want to take the banner with you too, Dame Margo," Giles said sourly. "I thought you were being metaphorical."
"I do," Margo said. "It is a shame none of you plays the trumpet, but singing should suffice."
"Dame Margo," Giles said. "There is a time and a place for ceremonial—"
"The time is now, Mr Giles."
"But the place is within this, our sanctum, Dame Margo," Giles said, "not beyond its doors. While ceremonial does have a most useful psychological effect—"
"Invaluable, Mr Giles," Margo said, "but your faction have long underestimated its importance. If you had attended the greater rites more than twice a decade, you would know better."
"I think it no coincidence," Wilfred added, "that the majority of the rebels came from the modernising factions."
"Be that as it may, Dame Margo—" Giles began, ignoring Wilfred.
"Have you considered the psychological impact on the demons, Mr Giles?"
"It will attract them, Dame Margo. I fail to see how this benefits us. The additional risk—"
"Mr Giles, every dead demon benefits us, or do you wish to suggest we are not up to the task?"
He sighed. "It would be a brave man who would suggest that of you, Dame Margo."
"Then it is decided," Margo said as Giles went into his office. "We shall march to my doom in style, banner held high, our voices raised in song."
"You got cloaks for us?" Cordelia asked, looking at the bag. They weren't her idea of style, but no one human would see her wearing them and cloaks could look impressive.
"I have, Miss Chase," Margo said, pulling four out of the bag. "Wilfred, Agatha?"
The Bodsworths accepted their cloaks from Margo, then stepped behind Cordelia and Xander.
"These are yours," Margo said. "Wear them with pride."
Cordelia looked closely at hers; grey, but heavily embroidered on one side with what looked like words, thousands and thousands of them in a hundred different scripts, no two the same colour. "Are these names?"
"They are, Miss Chase," Margo said, "names chosen from among the honoured dead. Your mother's name will lie directly over your heart."
"And Jesse's?" Xander said, the cloak sliding off his shoulder. "Why won't this thing stay on?"
"Allow me," Wilfred said, taking it off Xander. "You had it upside down."
"Naturally, Master Harris," Margo said. "I respect our traditions."
Cordelia fastened her cloak then spun to face Xander, letting it swirl dramatically behind her. "How do I look?"
"Super," Xander suggested, smiling, "Cordy."
"Almost right," Agatha said, making a few subtle adjustments.
Giles stepped out of his office, his cloak wrapped tightly round him. "Satisfied, Dame Margo?"
"Now you look the part, Mr Giles," Margo said, a faint smile on her lips.
"Never mind what I feel like," Giles muttered.
Cordelia smiled sympathetically at him. "I know how you feel." If she'd known she would end up fighting demons with a magic tiara while wearing fancy dress, she would have made a different wish, but every step had made sense at the time, even as it led her deeper into the quagmire.
"Positions please," Margo said, snapping her fingers.
The banner darted forwards, pausing directly over Margo's head.
"I see you are not entirely bound by convention, Dame Margo," Giles said, frowning at the banner as the Bodsworths moved into place, three feet behind Margo. "Cordelia, Xander, form the third rank, and I'll take up the rear."
Cordelia quickly stood behind Agatha, letting Xander take the right hand slot. It meant getting attacked from her left, not generally a good idea, but Xander was right handed too, and his cane was a lot bigger than her fan. If she'd put him on her left, he'd probably have kept accidentally catching her with it.
"There are only six of us, Mr Giles," Margo said, reverting to the disguise she had worn the previous night. "I won't ask anyone to fight one handed."
"Admirable pragmatism, Dame Margo," Giles said, moving behind Cordelia. "For once."
"Tonight," Margo said, "we march into the valley of death, not for wealth or glory, but to protect all mankind. There can be no nobler cause. Even if we should all die, torn limb from limb by the demon hordes, we shall have the satisfaction of knowing we died as we have lived, fighting for what is right."
"Fortunately, Dame Margo," Giles said, "we are all likely to live to experience the considerably greater satisfaction of winning. Once we reach the funeral home, we will be partially protected by the board's lesser seal, and on our way there we will have you to protect us. There would seem to be no need for you to be spreading gloom."
"I will do my best, Mr Giles," Margo said, "but I know my limits. Victory can never be guaranteed." Then she pointed her cane forwards. "To battle!"
"Cheerful, isn't she?" Xander whispered to Cordelia.
"Sing," Margo shouted, blasting a demon with rainbow fire, then deflected a lightning bolt. "Let the demons hear our determination, and know fear."
"I think they're pretty frightened already," Cordelia said, watching as Margo eviscerated another demon with her fan, then set it on fire. This, the third group of demons they'd seen since leaving the library, stood no more chance against Margo than the others she'd left smeared over the sidewalk.
Cordelia wouldn't need to lift a finger.
The other minions edged backwards, looking nervously at each other.
"I fear no puny mortals," the big demon said. "I am Lozgralch, who—"
"Ure!" Margo spat.
"Kill her," Lozgralch shouted, beating out the flames in its robes.
The minions looked at Margo, now wreathed in emerald radiance, then back at their master. "You kill her."
Lozgralch snatched up the nearest minion and crushed its skull, then licked the gore from its crimson fingers. "Obey me or die."
One minion ran, its hooves leaving smouldering pits in the concrete.
Lozgralch clenched his fist, and the fleeing minion exploded. "Surround them, you fools. They are only human; they cannot defeat us."
Xander laughed.
The remaining minions looked at Lozgralch, then rushed forwards, splitting into two groups a dozen yards in front of Margo.
"Remember," Margo said as the minions streamed past her. "You are fighting to protect all mankind. Do not let them down."
"No pressure then," Xander said, turning to face the oncoming demons.
Cordelia nodded. None of the minions had stopped to fight the Bodsworths, probably too close to Margo, which left two each for the rest of them, more than she would have fought in a month before her wish.
They charged towards her, tentacles whipping the air, shouting obscene threats.
Cordelia glared at them, gripping her fan tightly. She'd seen worse language scrawled on her locker, back in her freshman year. She would not be intimidated by this pathetic pack of losers; she would stand her ground. Anyway, running would just get her killed.
The charging minions slowed, looking uncertainly at each other.
Cordelia smiled, as menacingly as she could manage.
One minion tentatively tapped her knee, while the other made an half-hearted jab at her face.
Cordelia clubbed the first minion over the head with her fan, then kicked it in the groin, incapacitating it before it could realise the tiara was a bluff.
The second minion laughed, then punched her in the gut.
Cordelia staggered backwards, bumping up against Xander.
The minion gently swung at her head, then landed three swift blows under her ribs when she raised the fan to block it.
"Duck!" Xander shouted.
As Cordelia ducked a knife hurtled over her head, hitting the minion in the throat.
There was no way Xander could have thrown that, Even Buffy would have had difficulty hitting a target behind her. It must have been thrown by one of the minions he was fighting. Lucky that—
No, not luck, Xander's cards. Her death would definitely be bad luck for him, so the magic would protect her too.
She turned to face him, then smiled. There were two demons laying in front of him, one impaled on the other's horn.
"I see the good luck charm's working," Giles noted dryly, killing the last minion.
Xander patted his pocket. "Las Vegas, here I come."
Giles nodded. "With those cards, you might even survive the resulting power struggle, so long as you didn't meet anyone truly skilled. How was the tiara?"
"Great," Cordelia said, "for the first two seconds, then they saw through it."
"Better than nothing," Wilfred said. "In principle it can do rather more, but only if you have sufficient willpower. A few years practice might help."
Cordelia glared at him. She needed the assistance now, not in two years time.
"Your minions are dead," Margo taunted, deflecting another lightning bolt, "defeated by mere humans. What of your proud boasts now?"
"I am Lozgralch," it said. "I cannot be slain on land or at sea, by day or by night, by the quick or the dead, by fire or by ice, by—"
"That," Margo said, a small black statue appearing in her hand, "was when you were alive. Now you are but a revenant, undead flesh wrapped in a semblance of your former might. The old protections no longer apply."
"That kind of warding was very fashionable at one time," Wilfred added conversationally, "until the demons realised Fate saw it as a challenge."
Margo hurled the statue at Lozgralch, who laughed as he caught it.
"You think to harm me with this toy," he said, crushing the statue. "Me, who—"
A myriad spiders swarmed out of the crumbling statue, some smaller than a nickel, others nearly a foot across.
Lozgralch laughed as he crushed them, but more emerged from that shattered remnants of the statue, until he was lost to sight beneath the scurrying hordes.
"An idol of Ilxolja, spider-god," Margo explained, ignoring Lozgralch's dieing screams. "His minions will not linger here. Shall we move on?"
"The deathgate," Margo said, "with fifteen minutes to spare."
Cordelia smiled at the sight of the funeral home, still wrapped in a net of white flame, the lesser seal of the board blazoned on each wall — the work of art students on PCP, according to a police statement in the local paper. Few demons would dare come within sight of this building, only the most powerful or desperate, so she should be safe now.
"And we only had to kill a few hundred demons to get here," Xander added, smiling broadly.
"One hundred and seventeen," Wilfred said, "including five behemoth class threats."
Cordelia looked at him, surprised. "You counted them?"
"Keeping accurate records is important," Wilfred said, "especially when the time comes to compose the annals of your deeds."
"This is the east side," Margo noted. "Before we separate, are you all entirely clear on the plan?"
"We've got to guard the four sides of the building," Cordelia quickly summarised, not wanting another explanation.
"When I enter the building," Margo said as the rest of them followed her round, "we can expect the deathgate to summon defenders, metaphorically. I strongly suggest that each of you draw a pentagram clockwise around your position, with two points touching the building. If any of you should be out of position when I cast the final spell, the consequences could be quite unpleasant. It would also be rather undesirable for any of the revenants to break into the building and reach me."
"What about the banner, Dame Margo?" Giles asked. "It is something of a demon-magnet."
"You can have that honour, Mr Giles. You're going to be on the roof, providing back-up. You might need it."
Cordelia exchanged an exasperated look with Xander. Giles would have been much more useful on the ground. The only back-up he could provide from the roof was moral support and perhaps the occasional crossbow bolt, but to summon the hyena victims he had to be halfway between her and Xander, all of which Margo surely knew. She was only pretending to believe his excuse to avoid embarrassing him politically. If only she'd been able to talk openly with Giles about the hyenas, Buffy would have been cured by now, but watchers enjoyed intrigue too much.
"Why, Dame Margo?" Giles asked suspiciously.
"There is a small chance the building will collapse when I seal the deathgate," Margo said, waving her hand dismissively. "If so, you have permission to grab hold of the banner, which should lower you safely to the ground."
"Should, Dame Margo?" Giles asked.
"It is a rather difficult hypothesis to test, Mr Giles," Margo said. "The east side. Take your position, Miss Chase."
Cordelia bowed to the banner, then walked over to the door placed, with typical bad luck, right in the centre of the building's east face.
"Do try and remember what you killed," Xander said as the others marched off. "Wilfred will be so disappointed if you forget."
Cordelia looked warily at the approaching demons. There must be nearly thirty of them; three big hitters, two of them trailed by a flock of minions, if she was reading their body language correctly. The three weren't standing together, so they must be rivals, in an uneasy alliance.
Giles was still chanting, so he wouldn't be able to help her. She'd have to fend off these demons alone, with just some magic jewellery and the board's seal to help her.
Fifty feet in front of her, they paused, the minions murmuring fearfully.
"An interesting toy," the one in the middle said, her voice the whisper of desert sands, "but you are too weak willed to use it effectively."
The one on the left looked at her, three red eyes glowing in the shadow of its hood. "She bears the Maiden's favour."
"Coward you are," the third one said, drawing a blood red sword, "to fear any child of man. I fear nothing."
"Then you are a fool, Cormoran, son of Nemhain," three-eyes said. "Die once more if you will. I shall take the wiser path."
"The fool's path," Cormoran said.
Three-eyes shrugged. "That lies on the opposite side of the building."
Cordelia smiled. That was the side where Xander was standing, with his lucky cards. If three-eyes had seen him recently, he was probably still be alive.
"You dare mock me?" Cormoran shouted, his bestial face contorted in rage. "I will stuff your rotten heart down your gullet."
"Gentlemen," the middle one said, lightning crackling over her upraised hands. "Could we try to remember who the enemy is? Cormoran, you would have lived longer had you been less foolhardy. Twaisp Twaisb Twaism, you would have lived longer had you spoken more plainly."
"Then I will speak plainly, Alzradin," Twaisp said. "If I fight her I could lose. That the Maiden has guaranteed, no less, no more."
But that was true anyway. However powerful the demon, there was always a chance Cordelia would get lucky. There must be more to the Maiden's favour than that.
"A most potent charm," Alzradin sneered. "Go if you must. I would rather take my chances here rather than face the wrath of earth and fire."
"Coward," Cormoran spat as Twaisp and its minions left. "The lass is only human. Against our combined might she cannot hope to stand."
"Perhaps you should surrender," Alzradin suggested, lazily bouncing a ball of scarlet lightning.
"Make me," Cordelia challenged confidently. Standing in the middle of a large glowing pentagram, with the lesser seal of the board on the wall behind her, she should be completely safe from hostile magic.
"With pleasure," Cormoran shouted. "Charge, boys."
His minions did not move.
Cormoran picked one of them up and threw it at Cordelia. "I said, charge."
The minion slammed into the wall, vanishing in a blaze of white fire."
"I suspect your 'boys' are intimidated by the presence of that foul sigil," Alzradin said. "Swear eternal fealty to me, and I will protect them against it."
"Never," Cormoran shouted, pointing his sword at Alzrafin. "You will kneel before me, and call me Master. Get her, boys."
This time, the minions obeyed, Cormoran himself following close behind.
"Must I do everything myself?" Alzradin asked. "Servite mihi. Contra lucem vos protegam, et victoria vos ducam. Kill the girl."
Cormoran howled in rage, but his minions all turned and charged at Cordelia, their features now wrapped in swirling shadows.
She braced herself for impact, fan held high. She might not have much chance of surviving a fight, but she had no choice. She had made a promise to a god, a promise she dared not break.
Screaming incoherently, Cormoran leapt at Alzradin, who stepped aside.
Halfway to Cordelia, the minions slowed, the shadows around them beginning to fade, but they did not stop.
Catlike, Cormoran swivelled in mid-air, kicking Alzradin in the jaw.
"…pugna," Giles shouted, his chant reaching a crescendo. "Come, to battle and be free."
Alzradin somersaulted backwards, an ebon staff appearing in her hands.
"Anyone need help?" Giles asked.
"Me," Cordelia shouted, then sighed as three voices echoed her. Just as she'd expected, he was going to be too busy trying to help everyone to be much help to anyone.
The first minion hesitated at the outer edge of the pentagram, looking uncertainly at the pale glow, then over its shoulder at Alzradin.
Cordelia watched it steadily, waiting. At least these minions were shorter than her. If they tried using their knives, she'd have the advantage of reach.
The second minion ploughed into the first, knocking it forwards, and the pentagram flared up, golden flames racing clockwise round the lines Cordelia had drawn. The demon screamed, then glared up at her. "Die!"
Cordelia sidestepped as the demon charged her, its clothes still burning, and bashed it over the head with her fan as it slid past.
"Ira harenarum," Alzradin whispered, pointing her staff at Cormoran, and around him the air filled with whirling sand.
Cordelia casually kicked the smouldering minion out of the pentagram, her eyes fixed on the struggling demons.
"Xander," Buffy shouted, sounding perhaps a block away.
Three more minions hesitantly stepped into the pentagram, then immediately rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish their burning flesh.
"Quickly," Giles shouted, firing his crossbow at Alzradin. "Hit them while they're down."
As Alzradin knocked the bolt aside, her staff wavered, and Cormoran emerged from the sandstorm, his bones now laid bare.
"I know that," Cordelia shouted, kicking one minion in the head. She hesitated, then bent down and slashed the next minion's throat, an unpleasant but necessary task. "Can't you do anything?"
Giles fired again, skewering the third minion. "You're doing —"
The first minion grabbed Cordelia's ankle and pulled.
As she fell, she twisted round, landing on top of the minion, then stabbed it in the throat.
"—pretty well," Giles said, moving away. "Keep it up."
Flattering, but not what she wanted to hear. Scowling, Cordelia shook the blood off her fan, then rolled aside as another minion leapt at her.
Trailing flames, it hurtled past her ear, hit the funeral home wall, and exploded.
Smiling grimly, Cordelia looked at the remaining minions, challenging them to come closer.
Cormoran and Alzradin danced round each other, sword clanging on staff, typical demon behaviour. She wouldn't have to worry about either of them for a few minutes.
The minions charged.
"Stop!" Cordelia shouted, with all the authority she could muster, trusting to the tiara, and the demons stumbled, two falling amidst the pentagram's golden flames. The rest rushed on.
Cordelia fell back, holding her fan ready.
A storm of tooth and claw and shadow-wreathed scales, they swept over her, heedless of her feeble counterstrokes, and she was down, bared fangs brushing her throat.
"Not so fast," one said, its tentacles caressing her thighs, and the snake-headed demon hesitated. "She hurt us. She must pay."
Forcing away her fears, Cordelia studied the minions, looking for any vulnerable spots. The Bodsworths had recommended the knees, but the angle was wrong, and the groin was too obvious a target. She'd have to aim higher, when the time came.
"She must die," a pig-faced dwarf demon said. "Our masters have ordered it."
"Eunuch," the first demon spat, staring hungrily down at Cordelia's groin. "Women exist to serve only one purpose. With that coin she shall—"
Cordelia lashed out, kicking the leering demon right on the larynx even as she jabbed the snake-demon in the eyes.
Both demons staggered backwards, one clutching at its throat, the other at its face, but the pig-faced demon laughed. "Anyone else want to keep her alive?"
"Yes," Willow shouted, and Cordelia tensed, readying herself for the next round.
A blue-scaled demon smuled down at her, raising one cloven hoof. "Time to—"
Looking frantically to her right, Cordelia started to roll aside as the foot slammed down, a blow that would shatter her skull, then swiftly rolled back the other way, and grabbed up her fan.
The hoof whistled past her head, landing a little to her right, and the demon stumbled, landing across Cordelia.
Laughing, Willow jumped on top of it, then ground her heels into the small of its back. "Think Xander will like—"
"Not now," Cordelia said as she struggled out from under the demon, flinching as Kyle leapt over her, his feet barely missing her nose. "Later."
Rhona staggered past, wrestling with a demon, then others, as the fight shuffled back and forth, confined by the pentagram.
Cordelia squirmed away, barely dodging the trampling feet, until she was in the clear then rose up, fan firmly gripped in her hand, and turned to join the fray.
Panting heavily, Cordelia sidestepped the last minion.
It skidded past her, into the pentagram's golden flames, and was consumed, like the others before it.
Cordelia looked down at herself, examining her injuries — claw marks on her shoulder, hips and thigh; bite marks on her other shoulder and her wrist; an acid burn marring her left calf; blood still seeping from the cut on her lower back — and she laughed.
She might have some ugly scars now, but she could live with that. Better ugly than dead, but she hadn't died. The demons had died, but she had lived; nothing else mattered. Besides, a little make-up would hide the scars.
"Kyle," Rhona murmured plaintively, and Cordelia sobered. Rhona was cradling his head in her arms, but his body was three feet away.
Tor and Heidi didn't look much healthier. He'd had his gut ripped open, she'd lost her left arm; both survivable injuries, if they got prompt medical attention, but there was no chance of an ambulance and Margo was busy. At least Willow and Rhona didn't look too badly hurt, no worse off than Cordelia herself.
She frowned. All the hyena victims were here, except one. "Where's Buffy?"
"She went round the other side," Willow said, wiping the blood off with a handful of grass. "Where's Xander?"
Round the other side. His lucky charm was definitely working, but she could explain that after Willow had been freed.
Smiling, Cordelia pointed at the doors. "Inside, waiting for you."
"Inside?" Willow said, glancing nervously at the building. "With all the ghosts?"
"He's drawn another pentagram," Cordelia lied. "You'll be perfectly safe," thanks to Giles. The spell he'd just cast would make sure that only the hyena spirits would be harmed.
Willow hesitated, then smiled. "How do I look?"
"Irresistable," and very tacky. She was wearing a skimpy pink bikini, a short red leather miniskirt, bright mauve high heels, and nothing else. Possession had clearly done nothing for her colour sense.
Willow wiped her hands, then sauntered through the golden flames to the doors, her hips swaying.
Behind Cordelia, lightning flashed.
Willow touched the doors, and collapsed, a faint blur sinking into the building
"What—" Rhona began, then Cordelia grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her at the wall.
As Rhona collapsed, half-glimpsed shadows danced across the wall, and were gone.
Cormoran screamed.
Cordelia glanced over her shoulder and groaned. Cormoran was writhing on the ground, its sword forgotten, as Alzradin blasted him with lightning. Soon, he would be dead, and she would be free to target Cordelia.
"That might have been a mistake," Willow said, sitting up. "Where is everyone?"
Cordelia looked warily at her. "New outfit?"
Willow frowned then, blushing furiously, tried to cover herself up.
Cordelia smiled, glad to have the real Willow back. "Don't worry. It's just us girls. What mistake?"
"Margo—" Willow looked at Alzradin, her eyes widening. "I'll tell you later. What are you really doing here?"
Rhona screamed.
"Get her inside the pentagram," Cordelia said. "It's nearly midnight."
Standing over Cormoran's blackened bones, Alzradin looked at them and laughed. "You are but mortal children. You cannot hope to bar my way, not can the witch you serve. I shall destroy her, and bind the deathgate to my service with her blood. I …"
Ignoring the demon's rant, Cordelia turned to help Willow.
"I, we, ate …" Rhona babbled, staring at her hands.
"It wasn't really you. Someone spiked our food," Willow said reassuringly, then glanced at Cordelia and whispered, "What really happened?"
"Later," Cordelia whispered back, then looked sternly at Rhona. "Come here."
"… and I shall reign supreme as the Eternal Empress," Alzradin said. "Bow down before me or die."
Rhona looked up at Cordelia. "Why should I listen to you. You're just an—"
"If you don't, you will die," Cordelia said firmly, ignoring Willow's disapproving frown. Rhona was a bully; threats were the only language she understood.
Rhona laughed unconvincingly, her face still pale with shock. "You wouldn't— Kyle! Those freaks killed Kyle."
Cordelia nodded. "And there are more out there. This is the only safe place."
"Nowhere is safe from my wrath," a male voice rumbled from behind Cordelia.
She turned to look, then scowled. Another three dozen demons had arrived, led by a giant half-snake with a near-human head, a sword in each hand.
Rhona rushed inside the pentagram, sitting down as far from the bodies as she could.
Inside the building, something laughed triumphantly, and the air grew chill.
The demons looked nervously at each other then rushed toward Cordelia, Alzradin chanting a new spell.
The white flames wrapping the funeral home guttered, flared back up, then went out.
"Great," Cordelia said. "What next?"
"The soulstorm—" Willow began as ghosts seeped out of the walls, their inhuman faces contorted in terror.
"I know that," Cordelia said sharply. This was not the time for lengthy explanations. "The pentagram won't hold," not when the board's seal had failed.
The ghosts streamed past, their eyes fixed on the horizon, another bad sign.
"Hear me and tremble, O lords of the dark," Margo shouted, the earth trembling at her words.. "Hear me and tremble, slaves of the Last, for a guardian of life stands against you. I fear not your lies, for I have seen the truth. Death is not a defeat."
The charging demons hesitated, a few feet from the pentagram, then Alzradin shrugged. "Foedare!" she said, waving her staff, and the golden flames dimmed.
Again laughter boomed across the grass, the deep bass rumble of an avalanche, and the walls cracked open, more demon-ghosts spilling out.
"Got a spare fan?" Willow asked, eying the demons.
Shaking her head, Cordelia pointed at the bodies. "What about them?"
Snow billowed out of the crumbling funeral home, carried on an arctic wind.
"The Fimbulwinter?" Willow murmured, hesitated, then snatched a knife from Kyle's pants.
Shapes moved within the snow, veiled by its swirling gusts.
"Segenarith," Margo shouted, and Cordelia half-smiled, recognising the word. If this spell was like the blood demon's, it would soon be over.
"Foedare!" Alzradin repeated, and the golden flames died, but the lines Cordelia had drawn remained, glimmering faintly in the dim light.
She backed up against Willow, holding her fan at the ready. Facing her, Alzradin smiled grimly, behind her a small army of demons growling threats.
The snow engulfed them all, human and demon alike.
"You better know what you're doing," Rhona said, edging toward Cordelia.
Out in the snow, something growled.
"Beware," Wilfred shouted, his voice barely audible above the howling wind. "Loki … brood … spawn … before …."
The snake demon scowled. "I care not who stands in my way. Be they man or be they god, they shall die."
A blur of movement, white against white, and the demon screamed, black blood oozing from the stump of its missing hand.
"Not the first generation. We'd be dead," Willow muttered. "Loki had three monstrous children; Fenris —"
"Explain later," Cordelia snapped. "What did that?"
"Foedare," Alzradin said softly, then whirled, red hot sand jetting out of the end of her staff.
"Duck," Willow shouted, and Cordelia obeyed, raising her fan as a shape passed close overhead, a wolf with bone-white fur, its jaws gaping.
"Wolves," Willow said, redundantly, "snakes, and zombie vikings."
The wolf ploughed into the demons, bowling them over, but they pulled it down, claws ripping into flesh. One of them, three-eyed and warty, licked the blood off its hands, then stabbed at Cordelia.
She knocked aside the thrust with her fan, then slashed at its side on the backstroke.
"You killed Kyle," Rhona snarled, trading punches with a demon.
As a second wolf jumped at Cordelia, she clubbed it on the nose, then kicked the three-eyed demon on the knee.
"Who dares challenge me?" the snake demon bellowed, crushing two zombies in its coils.
Cold laughter thundered from the blizzard's heart, mocking laughter that echoed off the clouds, laughter unending, and the wolves howled joyously, their wounds healing.
Beneath that laughter a sly voice whispered of betrayal and deceit, the words slithering into Cordelia's head.
"Don't listen," she shouted, stamping on temptation. The laughter was deafeningly loud; she should not be able to hear a whisper. "Something's trying to get in our heads."
Tonight might be the perfect opportunity to kill Willow but Cordelia did not want her dead. She wanted to see her pay for her crimes. She wanted to see her suffer as she had made Cordelia suffer, and then suffer some more. Dead, Willow would escape that justly deserved punishment, which was not acceptable.
A giant snake lunged out of the snow, its jaws closing over Alzradin.
"Segenarith," Margo yelled, almost inaudible over the laughter.
Lightning flashed, and the snake shuddered, smoke pouring from its mouth, then it swallowed. Headless, Alzradin's corpse exploded, showering Cordelia with rotting meat.
The demon plunged both its swords into the snake's eyes.
A zombie advanced on Cordelia, a ghostly knife flickering in its hands. The three-eyed demon shoved it aside and smiled. "You hurt me. You will—"
The zombie buried its spectral weapon in the demon's skull, then swung at Cordelia. Desperately trying to remember every fight she'd ever seen, she struck back, her fan going straight through the knife and catching the zombie's wrist.
Willow moved left and Cordelia followed, grimacing as the zombie slashed her ribs. She parried once, twice, kicked the zombie on the shin, then spun right, trusting the others to follow her.
They did, both of them staying at her back as she clubbed the zombie's shoulder.
Two steps forwards, one step right, and Cordelia was facing a demon, the others still a reassuring presence at her back.
It grabbed her wrist, its claws sinking into her skin but the pain didn't matter. Only survival mattered. Yanking herself free, she punched the demon in the face sending it stumbling into the path of a wolf. The blood dripping down her arm was inconvenient, but she could cope. She'd have to.
Back to back the three girls shuffled to and fro for time unmeasured, parrying some blows, taking others, striking out when they could, but for every enemy they downed another appeared from the veiling snow, and the ground was growing slippery.
Then Margo spoke for the third time. "Segenarith," she said, and everything stopped. The howling winds, the many fights, the mad laughter, all were stilled by that word.
Cordelia glanced at the battlefield around her, dozens of inhuman bodies scattered across the blood-stained snow, then turned to look at the heart of the trouble, the funeral home — which had gone. Only a field of rubble remained, stretching to the far horizon, where two glowing figures stood, one towering over the other, presumably Margo and Loki.
"Spatial distortion," Willow said, peering into the distance. "The building was miles across inside, but that must have been a property of the space itself, not …."
Cordelia nodded absently. She could just see Wilfred and Agatha on either side of the rubble field, half-way to the horizon, but there was no sign of Xander or Giles.
Margo collapsed, the rainbow glow around her sinking into the ground then spreading out, an irrridescent shimmer racing across the ruins.
Loki strode toward Cordelia, chuckling softly, and the demons around her fled.
She took one step backwards, then paused. If Loki was free, she couldn't outrun him. If he wasn't, if this was some trickery, she didn't need to.
The rainbow ripples swept past her, over the fleeing demons, and they burned.
Cordelia smiled faintly as the calcined skeletons crumbled away. The rainbow wasn't hurting Loki. The god was still walking towards her, a carefree smile on his lips, sweat glistening on his near naked body. He didn't look very godly, no unearthly beauty or Herculean physique. He looked much like Xander, a charming clown with a face anyone would trust, but the laughter in his eyes was a thin veil over a pit of malice.
Nor should she have been able to see so much detail from several hundred yards. He couldn't really be walking either, not when he'd managed to cover what looked like a dozen miles in just a few seconds. Almost everything about him must be an illusion, a lie intended to beguile her, but Cordelia was not so easily fooled.
A shimmer, and Loki was slouched on jewelled throne, carried by four giants, on his left a pack of wolves, ten thousand strong, on his right, a viking army, spectral axes flickering in rotting hands. Overhead, dragons circled.
Cordelia blinked, but the army was still there. If it was an illusion, it was too strong for her to see through.
The rainbow brushed against the neighbouring buildings then rebounded, waves of colour washing across the rubble.
Loki looked at Cordelia and she understood. A simple invitation would be enough to anchor him in this world, and the rewards would be great.
Willow looked briefly uncertain, then scowled. "No. You can't be trusted."
Loki glared at them, his eyes as cold and dark as the void between the stars, and Cordelia felt the weight of his curse settle upon her soul. As she had spurned him, so would she be spurned. Never would strangers show her mercy. Always they would abandon her, no matter how great her need.
Potentially unpleasant, but Cordelia had always known better than to rely on the kindness of strangers, and Margo had given her enough books on curses that she might be able to find a way round it.
The colours spiralled inwards, a whirlpool of light, golden symbols flickering on its outer rim. Overhead, demon ghosts flashed by, vainly thrashing the air as they were sucked into the maelstrom.
Cordelia quickly turned away. "Don't look. It'll be too bright."
"Like with the blood demon?" Willow said. "It does seem to be a similar spell, though—"
Behind Cordelia light flashed, brighter than the midday sun.
"Willow, Cordy," Xander shouted. "You OK?"
"We're—" Cordelia paused, awareness of pain returning as the adrenalin drained away. "—alive."
She'd already been injured before that last fight, now there was scarcely a square inch of her skin left intact. Weak from bloodloss and bone-deep exhaustion, she stumbled as she turned round, then smiled. Everyone else was still standing. Everyone had survived.
"The warped space is gone," Willow said thoughtfully. "It must have …"
Cordelia nodded. Where the funeral home had stood, there was now a large circle of polished grey rock inscribed with a complex geometrical design, the seal on the deathgate. Opposite her, Xander waved, then clutched his shoulder.
Buffy gently massaged the injury, then paused and fingered his cloak.
Rhona stared, her eyes wide. "That was … that was … incredible."
"It is over," Giles said, walking toward Buffy. "The death gate is sealed."
"Dame Margo has died as she lived," Wilfred added softly. "Si monumentum requiris, circumspice."
"Very true." Giles agreed, then looked from Wilfred to Agatha. "If you two would like a moment?"
The aides nodded, then silently limped to the centre of the circle and knelt down, heads bowed.
"You coming?" Xander shouted.
"We've got injured people here," Willlow shouted back, kneeling down besides Heidi.
Rhona looked down at her friends, then hopefully at Cordelia. "That was magic, wasn't it? You can do magic. Make them better."
"I can't do magic," Cordelia hastily said, then pointed at Giles. "Ask him."
"I never studied the healing magics," he said, circling round the seal, Xander and Buffy following close behind him. "Are they badly injured?"
"They're dieing," Willow said. "They need an hospital."
"We all do," Cordelia said, looking at the approaching trio. Buffy was uninjured, of course, but so was Giles, and Xander seemed only lightly mauled. "We didn't have a good luck charm."
"Do something," Rhona said. "Can't you do something?"
"We're doing everything we can," Giles said reassuringly. "Xander, where's the nearest phone box?"
"Two blocks that way," he replied, his eyes widening as he looked at Willow, who blushed and retreated behind Cordelia.
"Buffy," Giles said, giving her a few coins, "tell them you saw some people getting mugged."
"By a gang on PCP?" Xander suggested, smiling.
"I rather suspect they'll forget to ask," Giles said as Buffy ran off.
Rhona frowned. "Kyle is dead. How can you all sound so casual? Is this a normal night for you?"
"You know that big explosion last night?" Xander said. "That was us."
"Last night?" Rhona muttured. "Last night I… No! I did nothing. I saw nothing."
"Same as tonight?" Cordelia suggested. Rhona lacked her high moral standards; if she ever stopped denying the weirdness she would try abusing it.
Rhona hesitated, then nodded. "We were mugged, but you rescued us. Did I see your faces?"
"These three were fellow victims," Giles said, gesturing at Cordelia, Willow and Xander. "The muggers got bored and ran off."
Xander mock-pouted. "But I wanted to be a rescuer."
"You don't want to attract official attention," Giles said firmly.
"They're coming," Buffy shouted, running back toward Cordelia and the others, then she frowned. "You're wearing a cloak too, and you feel—"
"Not now," Cordelia said, carefully not glancing at Willow. "We'll explain everything later."
Wilfred and Agatha stood up, then bowed respectfully. "To aid you in your duty has been our privilege. May you ever be a light in the dark places."
"May the shadows never claim you," Giles replied, bowing back, and the two aides hobbled briskly away.
In the distance, the sirens sounded.
"Right," Giles said. "You all know your story."
"It's not a story," Rhona said hotly. "We were all mugged, and they stole Willow's clothes."
Giles nodded, then looked at Buffy. "We shouldn't stay. The police will need to make some pretence of investigating this incident, and your mother has been looking for you."
Buffy winced. "She has? What did you tell her? You didn't—"
"We said we thought you were with Willow," Giles reassured her as the two walked away.
Two police cars rounded the corner, followed by an ambulance, and Cordelia smiled. Normality was back.
With the deathgate sealed and Margo gone she would only have the standard hellmouth weirdness to contend with, vampires and a few demons, but nothing really serious, especially since she knew what to expect. After what she'd been through in the last week, it was going to seem easy.